


(Home Is) Hot Chocolate and Mandelbrot and You

by InsertSthMeaningful



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Bullying, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Domestic Fluff, Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Parenthood, Reconciliation, Tags Are Hard, bannedtogetherbingo2020, mutants in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26299522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertSthMeaningful/pseuds/InsertSthMeaningful
Summary: In which Erik brews Warren a hot chocolate, Charles fails to shape the Mandelbrot dough to Kurt’s liking and Pietro has to face the consequences for his actions.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Warren Worthington III & Charles Xavier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46
Collections: Banned Banned Together Bingo 2020, Banned Together Bingo 2020





	(Home Is) Hot Chocolate and Mandelbrot and You

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fill for the BannedTogetherBingo2020 prompt "Poo Poo Head" (stuff really gets banned for the most harmless things, huh?). 
> 
> Beta-ed by me, myself and I, so feel free to point out mistakes when you see them. Also, I'm no parent so please don't kill me if this isn't quite how it works! I only supervised children for about half a year and they're still not easy to write. 
> 
> I'm in an X-Men server with other lovely writers and artists! Feel free to join [here](https://discord.gg/wqkPMEr) (:

Charles was just looking up from tomorrow’s English handout to watch Erik put the last of his famous rugelach in the oven when there was a _poof_ and two brightly sparkling children’s minds appeared right outside the kitchen door. His interest roused, he put his pen down.

 _I think we have visitors, love_ , he told his husband, nudging the part of Erik’s mind where the conscious control for his mutation was seated. _Be a dear and let them in?_

Grumbling some half-formed thoughts about how he wasn’t door opener at everyone’s disposal and that Charles knew well how to use Erik’s mutation himself (and yet still unable to veil his oh-so overwhelming love for Charles which struck the telepath almost speechless every time he was made aware of it), Erik waved the oven clap closed and the kitchen door open before dusting off his floury hands on his apron.

Charles peered round the kitchen island towards the doorway and was met with a pair of yellow, confused eyes and then another pair of very blue, very watery eyes. Kurt and Warren were standing on the threshold, their hands and Kurt’s pointy tail gripping each other tightly between them.

“Why, hello there,” Charles called softly and smiled. “Do come in, you two. What’s the matter?”

Kurt complied. Warren… not so much. Instead, he broke into tears where he stood, his sobs making the downy petal-white wings on his back quiver.

Charles did not hesitate and gripped his chair’s controls to wheel over to his student. “Oh dear. That does not sound good at all.” He bent down, rummaging for a pack of clean Kleenex in his cardigan’s spacious pockets as he did so. “Do you want on my lap, Warren? I can hold you, and you can calm down until you’re able to tell me what’s wrong, yes?”

He had barely made the offer than Warren’s tiny hands were gripping the quilted comforter on his lap (courtesy of Erik’s boredom during long, cold winter evenings which left nothing to do but sit in front of the fireplace and knit) and he had to grasp the boy under the crooks of his arms and hoist him up onto his knees so the cloth wouldn’t slip from his legs. There, the young mutant snuggled into Charles’ chest, hiding his face in the frumpy folds of his headmaster’s soft cardigan, and continued sobbing bitterly.

Charles sent Erik a perplexed look over Warren’s shock of shoulder-length, golden curls and the slight curve of his wings, tucked tightly against the boy’s back. _I guess this leaves you to make sure Kurt doesn’t get into the cookie jar._

Erik’s eyes widened, and his thoughts became frantic for a heart-beat until his eyes settled on his blue nephew still standing there in the middle of the sun-lit kitchen, sucking absent-mindedly on the tip of his tail and seeming about as befuddled by his best friend’s behaviour as his uncles.

 _You’ll have to thank me for this later_ , Erik told Charles in the privacy of their minds, then bent over the kitchen island to wave and grin invitingly at Kurt. “Hallo, kleiner Bläuling. Do you want to help me knead the Mandelbrot dough?”

Kurt’s mind lit up in brilliant shades of rose-red and marigold-yellow, and Charles smiled quietly to himself as he soothed a hand down Warren’s trembling side. “Gerne, Onkel!” Kurt squealed, his tail now quivering in anticipation. “Wenn ich darf!”

“But,” Erik intercepted, wagging his index finger and making his I-am-very-serious face, “you’ve got to wash your hands first. _And_ your tail, too.”

“Ja, Onkel!” And with a whoosh of displaced air, Kurt was perching on the sink’s rim, turning up the hot water tap as the tip of his tail squeezed soap from the dispenser. Erik groaned and went to tell him off for getting his feet on surfaces where feet and the dirt and grime and dust that clung to them were usually not allowed.

Charles looked at his beautiful husband one last time – the smudge of golden batter on Erik’s cheek, the flour in the laughter lines around his eyes, the warm afternoon glow in his snow-white hair which was so ruffled because Erik would not stop blushing and raking his fingers through it every time Charles even so much as smiled at him – before he returned his attention to the sniffling, utterly distraught bundle of misery in his arms. Warren’s wings still drooped like a willow’s twigs in the rain, but his chopped breathing had evened out.

“So,” Charles murmured and gently wiped at the tear tracks on the boy’s cheeks with his thumb, “do you want to tell me what upset you so?”

“I was– Suh-someone was muh-mean to me.” Warren’s words scraped up his throat, tinged a bitter slate-indigo.

“Now that is not nice of them. Do you want to tell me who it was?” Charles asked evenly, even though he did not feel even at all inside. Sometimes, in the dead hours of the night – with Erik heavy and warm and fast asleep in his arms and only his own noisy thoughts to keep him company – Charles asked himself why, of all possible professions, he had decided to become a teacher when even the sheer mention of bullying made the bile rise in the back of his throat. The fact that Warren shot a wary glance over to where Erik was currently showing Kurt how to work their dough did not make him feel any more at ease, either.

“But Mr Lehnsherr muh-might hear...” Then, Warren seemed to have come to a decision. Wings bristling in nervous anticipation, he leaned up to whisper into Charles’ ear as though he was selling off a state secret. “It wuh-was Pietro, really, I swear. He tugged my feathers and called me nuh-names.”

Charles’ heart sank.

“Oh dear,” he whispered back. “Oh my, that is not good at all.”

Warren’s azure eyes widened. “I’m suh-sorry for snitching on your husband’s son, Professor, I didn’t–”

“No, no. Shh, Warren, there’s nothing you have to apologise for.” Charles put as much honest warmth into his voice as possible and squeezed the boy’s shoulders gently. “Just because Pietro is Mr Lehnsherr’s and my son doesn’t mean he gets special treatment. Don’t ever be worried about telling us when he’s done a bad thing, yes?”

Snuffling, Warren nodded. Then, his whisper lower than ever, he confessed, “He called me _poo poo head_ , because he said my curls looked like– like– And then he said the word that makes me scared.”

 _Angel_. The boy had heaps of trauma attached to this single word from before he had run away to their School – his father, the scientists in the laboratories of Worthington Labs, the occasional mutantphobic outsider had apparently not missed an opportunity to use the term in the most inappropriate of situations.

Even though he did not feel like it, Charles smiled kindly. “Warren… Thank you for coming to me and telling me. We’ll sort things out with Pietro, so he doesn’t bother you any more in the future, yes?”

“But snitching is bad...”

“It’s not when it saves you future hurt and pain, my dear.” Charles reached around Warren to unlock his chair’s brakes and started making his way over to where Erik and Kurt were involved in forming rectangular slabs from the Mandelbrot dough. “Now, I’ll take over from Mr Lehnsherr so he can brew you a nice hot chocolate. How does that sound?”

“Fine by me,” came Erik’s voice from above before he bent down and pressed a long, sugary-floury kiss to Charles’ lips. Warren made a barfing sound and scrambled off Charles’ lap, sweeping the comforter with him as he went.

“Gross,” Kurt agreed from where he was still perched over the baking sheets.

Charles grinned and drew back. “Erik! You’re scaring the kids! And did you just smear dough in my hair?”

“You know the risks of joining me in the kitchen while I bake,” his husband told him in his singsong I’m-too-happy-you're-here-to-care-right-now voice. “And please, feel free to continue my work with Kurt.”

Charles huffed, but gratefully accepted it when Erik tucked his blanket back around his legs and over his lap and then levitated the baking tins onto a lowered kitchen counter.

Kurt joined him in a cloud of indigo smoke. “Can I sit in your lap, Onkel?”

“ _May_ I sit,” Charles corrected him dutifully and patted his blanketed knees invitingly. “Go ahead.”

Kurt didn’t have to be told twice. In a flash, he had hurdled Charles’ armrests and was snuggling into Charles’ cardigan, his head fitting snugly under Charles’ chin. With an iron-grip, his tail came to curl around Charles’ forearm.

“ _May_ I show you how to form the dough, Onkel?” he chirped, oblivious to Erik grinning menacingly at Charles as he scooped Warren up and balanced him on his hip.

 _Charles, I_ know _your secondary mutation is being awful in the kitchen. If you screw that Mandelbrot up…_

Charles grinned and nodded along to Kurt’s detailed explanation. _I know, I know. Then I’ll have to make it up to you in the evening._

Erik laughed at something Warren had said, then ambled over to the refrigerator and let Warren pull the door open. _You said it._

For a heart-beat, Charles simply watched Kurt’s three-fingered hands patting the Mandelbrot dough and revelled in the warm honey-golden glow of _loveyouneedyoumybeautifulmygorgeousmybesthusband_ Erik was diffusing, as he always did any time a thought about Charles even so much as crossed his mind. Then, Charles gave an internal sigh and said, _Erik. Pietro has been bullying Warren._

Much to his credit, Erik showed no outwards reaction. He didn’t even flinch, but hovered a saucepan from a cupboard and kept on smiling to Warren’s rambling while he poured four cup’s worth of milk from a bottle.

His thoughts, however, spoke an entirely different language: Disappointment, guilt, and then a dreadful _I’m an awful father._ came tumbling out at Charles.

 _Darling, no_ , Charles soothed, imitating Kurt’s dough-shaping process. _You’re not at fault. In fact, I don’t think you could have any influence on Pietro’s behaviour – he’s been jealous of Kurt and Warren’s intense friendship for a while now. But we do need to have a talk with him._

Erik’s _Oh yes we do._ was drowned out by a mauve burst of enthusiasm from Warren.

“The milk is boiling, Professor!” he announced, wriggling in Erik’s grasp. All thoughts about petty insults and other mean seven-year-olds had finally slipped his mind, leaving behind the unblemished, carefree joy Charles had only ever felt in children.

“Do I get a hot chocolate, too?” Kurt asked from where he was rearranging the dough Charles had tried – and failed – to form into a reasonable shape.

Erik smiled and set Warren down on the counter to go rummaging through the drawers in search of the cacao powder. “Of course you do.”

Charles let Kurt load the backing trays on his lap and wheeled over to the oven, where the timer was steadily counting down on the rugelach backing time. “And what about me?” he asked, sending Erik his best puppy dog eyes look over his headrest and making the two boys giggle.

“ _You_ don’t get a hot chocolate,” Erik huffed, even as he took four cups from the cupboard.

“How about a trade, then: a kiss for a hot chocolate?”

Erik made intense thinking-eyes and rubbed his chin. On opposite ends of the kitchen, Warren and Kurt held their breath, their anticipation thick in the air.

“Na ja,” Erik spoke at last, “if you make it three kisses, it’s a deal.”

Kurt cheered, and Warren groaned and let hear a quiet, “Eww, yuck.” Charles just smiled, taking the steaming cup of hot chocolate from Erik. and then caught his husband’s hand before he could draw away.

Erik’s eyes crinkled in the corners when he looked down at him, his mind a symphony of autumn-golden adoration. “You have dough in your hair.”

“And we both know who’s to blame for that,” Charles murmured before he placed a feather-light kiss onto Erik’s knuckles, putting all his love and devotion for the man he was lucky enough to call his husband into this one single touch. _Kiss number one, darling_.

Erik tasted of sugar and flour and afternoon sunlight – and to Charles, he tasted like home.

How to Deal with a Child that Bullies – A (Possibly Incomplete) Guide by Charles and Erik Lehnsherr-Xavier

_1) Confront them and ask for the reason of their misbehaviour_

Pietro was shuffling his feet about so fast on the carpet of the headmaster’s study that Charles was seriously worried the fabric would start smoking and smouldering from the friction any minute now.

“Pietro,” Erik spoke from his perch on Charles’ heavy oak desk, “do you know why we called you up to talk?”

Defiantly, their son shook his head and pouted. “No, dads.” His thoughts were spinning around his head like a merry-go-round – to read them would have been about as impossible as jumping onto a freight train in full-speed from the ground.

“Pietro...” Charles sighed. “I heard you called Warren names during the afternoon recess and tousled his wings. Is that true?”

Tiny hands gnarled into fists by his sides, Pietro glanced up first at Erik, then at Charles.

They said nothing and waited.

“Yes,” the silver-haired boy finally muttered under his breath. “It’s true.”

Erik ran his fingers through his hair, his other hand sneaking over to squeeze his husband’s shoulder in search of solace. Charles just nodded and asked, “And why?”

Pietro shrugged. “He’s always hanging around with Kurt and they never wanna play with me an’ that’s not fair because I wanna be friends but they won’t have me.”

_2) Draw consequences by withdrawing privileges for a limited amount of time_

“My boy, you don’t endear yourself to others by being mean to them,” Charles breathed. “You could have waited until they invited you out of their own accord.”

“Alright.” Erik had stopped fiddling with his hair and had fixed Pietro with his stare – his eyes had no malignant shimmer to them, but they also didn’t look particularly friendly. “You will pass dessert tonight. I don’t like doing this, Pietro, but if you harm someone, you will eventually have to face the consequences – no matter what. Understood?”

“Yes, Dad. Yes, Papa,” Pietro said quietly. Then, he asked, “Can I go now?”

_3) Firmly ask them to apologise to the child they bullied_

Charles willed a slight smile onto his face. “One last thing: Tomorrow, when you have maths with Warren and Jubilee and the others, I’d like you to apologise to Warren.”

“And you _will_ do that,” Erik followed up. “We have ways to check, remember.”

A scowl slowly carving its way onto his face, their son nodded. “Yes,” he ground out. “Can I go _now_?”

Charles had barely pronounced the Y of the word “Yes” before there were a whooshing sound and the _plop_ of air filling a sudden vacuum and Pietro had vanished in the depths of the School.

Erik looked over at his husband and released a breath of relief. _That went better than I thought it would. Our boy has Chutzpah._

 _Well, we’ll see if he keeps his promise_ , Charles told him. Then, he grinned. _How about that second kiss now?_

_4) Monitor the situation to make sure it doesn’t happen again_

The next morning during recess, Erik and Charles were way past the three kisses they had negotiated the day before. Only when there was a gentle knock at the door did Erik pull back, trying in vain to straighten his turtleneck and smooth down his hair so he could give his next German lesson without looking like he had spent the whole break snogging his headmaster husband silly.

“Do come in!” Charles called, then stifled a laugh as Erik pulled a face and reluctantly got up from straddling his lap, giving Charles one last peck on the nose.

Creaking ominously on its hinges, the door swung open – to reveal three children’s silhouettes huddling together in the morning twilight.

“We made up!” Pietro declared proudly and tightened his arms around Warren’s middle. Kurt, sandwiched between the two, nodded very seriously. His tail was swishing about in the air behind him, obviously uncertain whether it should come coiling around Pietro’s arm or wrap itself around one of Warren’s wings.

And Warren… Warren, Charles noticed, had just the lightest dusting of rose-red on his chubby cheeks.

He smiled and glanced over at Erik. “Well done, you three. I’m so very proud of you, and I’m sure you’ll be very good friends from now on. However... don’t you have physical education with Mrs Adler-Darkhölme in five minutes?”

There came a collective intake of breath from three tiny mouths, and then Pietro was dashing off, closely followed by Warren and Kurt vanishing in a burst of cornflower-blue. And just like that, Charles and Erik were alone again.

“That was fast,” Erik remarked before he slid back onto Charles’ lap and waved the door closed. “Charles, did you–”

Smirking, Charles put a finger to Erik’s (utterly _delightful_ ) lips. _Aren’t you meant to be teaching a lesson in five– no, wait,_ four _minutes, dearest?_

His husband groaned and buried his face in the crook of Charles’ neck and shoulder, his hair tickling the sensitive skin there. His breath was warm and damp and smelled of the cinnamonic sweetness of the rugelach they had shared only ten minutes ago. _Just one more kiss?_

_Three minutes now. You know I don’t like my students to be late, Erik, and my teachers even less so._

“Ugh. Can I maybe bribe you with your favorite pancakes for breakfast on Sunday, Schatz?” came Erik’s muffled, plaintive voice.

Charles considered, threading his fingers through Erik’s wonderfully luscious shock of ashen hair. In his arms, his husband virtually melted into the caress.

“One more kiss, dear,” he finally concluded. “But make it fast.” (And even as he said it, he knew they would _not_ make it fast; Erik would appear a good seven minutes late in front of his pupils, and Charles would have to go smooth down his hair in front of the nearest bathroom mirror to look presentable for his next video call with a student's parents - and yet, neither of them would feel an ounce of regret.) 

Erik didn’t have to be told twice. Grinning triumphantly, he loomed up over Charles and cupped his cheek before he swooped down and claimed the promised kiss, drawing a delighted moan from his husband’s throat. Beneath his wandering grasp, the muscles of Erik’s back worked, warm and firm and _all Charles’_. 

Oh, what a lucky man he was after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are _very_ welcome (in other words: I'm a despairing writer and even a "+kudos" would make my day).


End file.
